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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26147968">'Cause the fall sounds a lot like symphony cries</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hybristophilica/pseuds/hybristophilica'>hybristophilica</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops &amp; Cafés, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Awkward Flirting, Balcony Scene, Barista Newt, Bisexual Thomas (Maze Runner), Cliche, Crying Newt (Maze Runner), Depressed Newt, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Dates, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Gay Newt (Maze Runner), Getting to Know Each Other, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Insomnia, Light Angst, M/M, Nightmares, Past Relationship(s), Rain, References to Depression, Relapsing, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Talking, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, brotp chuckmas, brotp minewt, but in the past, newt says fuck you destiny but karma is a bitch, writer thomas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 04:00:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>19,305</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26147968</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hybristophilica/pseuds/hybristophilica</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Can I have your name?” He asks while covering the beverage with a perforated lid of plastic. </p><p>The question seems to startle the other, whose cheeks soon taint red. “Pardon?”</p><p>Newt wants to laugh. The man is so embarrassed it’s almost ridiculous, shifting from foot to foot and trying not to look away from him. Newt can’t help a small smile, a real one this time.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Newt/Thomas (Maze Runner)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>54</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Are you open?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There is absolutely nothing worse than an indecisive client, Newt thinks bitterly. He watches with a fake but convincing smile the woman standing on the other side of the counter, who’s reading through the list of offers for the umpteenth time. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What did you suggest me just before?” She asks with a polite smile, clearly -and luckily- not noticing the annoyed twitch of his eyebrows. Newt forces a sarcastic retort down and points at the flyer at his right.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Our new Caramel latte with whipped cream?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The woman nods and decides to order it with a satisfied grin, as if Newt didn't just propose it to her two minutes ago. Prepared the order and sent the woman off, he sighs with relief and watches her take a seat on the other side of the room, where all the tables are placed. The Maze Cafe is still rather empty, with only a few very early birds sitting here and there, chugging down their coffees to force energy in their bodies. Rush hour would soon come with the seven-nine shift, when most workers would come to grab a quick drink before heading to work.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Woke up on the wrong side?” A voice asks behind him.Newt doesn’t need to turn around to know it’s coming from Minho. He looks at him with a glare, pouring in it all the frustration that first client put in him. Minho only laughs, the fucker. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re late,” Newt comments flatly, watching him fasten the dark red apron around his neck and waist. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Only of a half hour, mate, come on,” Minho replies, but his eyes shift to the door of the shop opening, the familiar chime of the bell ringing clear in the silence.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Uh. Are you open?” A man asks hesitating on the threshold. Minho waves at him with a thumb up and a grin, then he turns around to speak so that only Newt can hear him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m leaving him to you. I still have a call to make!” Without giving Newt any chance to complain, Minho disappears in the back of the shop. He is <em>so</em> going to kill him some day.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Meanwhile, the man has reached the counter, still looking unsure about being in there. Newt forces the murder instincts for Minho away for a moment and manages to smile reassuringly to the man. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, how can I help you?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man reads the menu quickly, <em>thank god</em>, and then his lips QUIRK up in a self deprecatory smile. “I’ll just have a black coffee. Take away.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt studies him for a moment, wondering if the choice was due to the impossibility to pick from the endless list the shop offered or just his personal taste. It doesn’t really matter, but there is something curious about the man and about the way he speaks. He looks nervous but not in a awkward way, like if he’s trying not to show it on his face, but the way his fingers keeps fidgeting with the shoulder strap is giving him away. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt turns around to prepare the order, feeling the other’s gaze glued to the back of his head. “Can I have your name?” He asks while covering the beverage with a perforated lid of plastic.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The question seems to startle the other, whose cheeks soon taint red. “Pardon?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt wants to laugh<em>. </em>The man is so embarrassed it’s almost ridiculous, shifting from foot to foot and trying not to look away from Newt. Newt can’t help a small smile, a real one this time. “It’s our way of doing, friend. I’m going to write it on your cup,” he said grabbing the black marker from the counter and tapping its butt against the cup. “See? Hey, you don’t have to, of course. Or you can give me a fake one. Many do that. You’d be impressed by the amount of people named Dick around here.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man laughs a light, breathy chuckle that clears all the bad mood away from Newt, and he smiles again. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m Thomas,” the man says at last, shoving his hands in the pockets of his black jeans and looking into Newt’s eyes with amusement. “Sorry, I don’t go out much,” he apologizes, and it’s no wonder Newt finds him so cute, because he’s <em>still </em>blushing. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt scribbles the name on the cup, handing it over. “No worries, pal.” Their fingers do not touch but they’re still holding gazes and Newt is the first to look away, because he is a fucking coward and doesn’t have the guts to ask for more than just his name. His number, for example. Or if he’d come back sometime. Instead, he lets Thomas walk away. The man hesitates again on the threshold, just like he didn't when he arrived. He looks thoughtful, but in the end he directs one last nod in Newt’s direction, which he mirrors with a wave of his hand. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">What a shame.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you done? Man, I think I got a caries just by looking at you two.” Minho appears from behind the curtains that led to the back of the shop. Newt is the only blushing now.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You were there the whole time?!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Minho laughs, opening his hands in the air in a defensive manner. “It’s not my fault! When I hung up I was about to come back, but then I saw the way that dude was looking at you and— mate. What kind of friend would I be if I’d interrupt such an exchange of cheesy looks?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt’s cheeks are burning up but he will not give Minho the satisfaction to see it, so he turns around and pretends to clean up spoons and plates and cups in the sink on the other side of the counter. “Well, you could have just come. There was nothing to interrupt really,” he states firmly, hoping that if his voice won’t waver Minho will not understand how flustered he is. Was Thomas really looking at him in some kind of way? It was dumb to hope so, wasn’t it. What were the chances that Newt saw him again? It was unlikely, and he forced himself to push the man’s little smile out of his head for the rest of the shift. Better to handle indecisive clients thanhis own indecisive thoughts.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt would have had the afternoon free, according to their schedule, but Ben calls in sick at the last minute, and Newt can never say no to Paige when she asks him to work another shift promising him some more money. He needs the money, so he says yes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Minho gets off work right after lunch, as planned. Things are slower during this shift because the neighborhood the Maze Cafe is situated in hosts many offices, which means mornings are a lot more chaotic than the rest of the day. In the afternoon, the biggest problem are usually small groups of high schoolers trying to study and ending up making a mess of the tables, but Newt can handle those. Today, only a few heads occupy the tables and Newt counts himself lucky. He’s preparing a hot chocolate when the bell of the door rings again, making him look up. He almost drops the hot mug all over the cash register when he sees Thomas. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas looks lost like he did that morning, but when he sees Newt his posture relaxes and he walks inside with a calm expression. He still has the shoulder strap, but he’s also holding papers and files with the other hand now. When he reaches the counter, Newt almost forgets that he’s still holding the chocolate. “Give me a second, I’ll be right back,” he excuses himself, sliding out of the staff-reserved area to serve the mug to the old man that ordered it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Once he’s standing behind the counter again, he pulls a sighs and wipes his hands on the apron, glancing back at Thomas. “So! What can I prepare for you?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man reads through the menu again, but doesn’t seem convinced. “A black coffee. The largest you can make,” he starts, then huffs out a soft chuckle. “And— I can’t seem to find it, but do you offer something to eat as well? I’m starving.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt’s lips curve up and he nods, pointing at the farthest section of the counter he’s standing behind. “We don’t have much, but the pastries are pretty good.” He tries to speak calmly and keeps his eyes on Thomas, who is now glancing at the food instead, with clear desire and almost drooling over the expositive glass. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They will definitely do. I’ll take three of the one you like the most.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt needs a couple of seconds to realize what the man has just said and he just stares like an idiot. When he finally comes back to his senses, fearing he’s burning up, he scratches the tip of his nose and lowers his eyes to the heavy looking bunch of paper Thomas is holding in his arms. “Alright. You can go sit wherever you like, I’ll bring it to you in a minute.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah, thank you so much!” Thomas grins, then walks to one of the free tables of the second floor of the shop, which consists in a smaller floor after a short staircase. Thomas choses the table beside the stairs and sits in front of the transparent balcony leaning into the flower floor. It faces the counter sideways and Thomas is looking at Newt while he pulls the bag off his shoulders and lays it on the table.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt turns around, deciding that it’s better to leave him to his work and to focus on his own. A black coffee. He knows how to make a coffee. He has made hundreds, hell, thousands of them. Coffee. Coffee.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He dares to peek over his shoulder, just for a second, because he can’t resist the curiosity. Thomas is still looking at him, this time above the laptop, and when he sees that Newt caught him staring he looks quickly down and types something on the keyboard. Newt’s ears are burning up when he turns to the coffee machine and activates it, the butterflies in his stomach flying way too fucking quickly for his own liking. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It takes him twice the amount of time he usually needs to prepare a coffee, but it’s finally done and Newt places it on the small tray he prepared to welcome the pastries on too. Three cinnamon braids. They <em>are </em>his favorite. <em>Let’s hope Thomas doesn’t hate cinnamon</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He carries the tray with practiced skill and thanks the gods above that he doesn’t fall miserably in front of Thomas and the rest of the customers. The other stops typing when he sees Newt approach and he clears a few dossiers from the table so he can put the tray down. “Thank you so much,” Thomas says gently, and Newt has to once again fight the urge to sit down and ask the man his number. Dammit, he’s just a client, fucking <em>behave</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re welcome,” Newt answers as calmly as he manages, smiling at Thomas before jumping down the staircase and retreat to his secure kingdom behind the counter. He busies himself washing mugs and bowls and spoons, then he sets up the flyers and wipes the counter until it’s shining. When he dares to look up again, Newt finds Thomas working on his laptop once again, still typing words furiously on the keyboard with a small frown darkening his features. He looks very focused, and Newt wonders what he’s doing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The rest of the shift is quiet. The other customers leave one by one, waving and thanking him on their way out, but Thomas hasn’t moved from his spot yet. He’s still munching on the third and last cinnamon pastry, kind of slow for one that had been starving. Newt leaves him be for as long as he can, but when the hands of the wall clock behind the counter mark 7 p.m. Newt really can’t wait anymore. He walks to him and stands beside the table of the man, but Thomas doesn’t even seem to notice him. Newt clears his throat then, and Thomas flinches. “Uhm. I’m sorry, but we’re closing.” He hoped he didn't sound as awkward as he felt.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas’s eyes widen as they quickly shift to the clock, then he looks back at Newt and stands up quickly. “I’m sorry! I didn't really realize it was so late,” he hurried to explain, collecting all the material and the laptop from the table. Newt scrolled his hand in the air, shaking his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nah, it’s fine.” If it was any other client, Newt would be livid, or at least very annoyed. He likes to close the shop on time and loathes those who linger in the shop for the sake of it. But since Thomas has clearly been working, and since Newt was an hypocrite and made exceptions for cute and kind men in glasses eating his favorite sweets, he gives Thomas all the time he needs to get ready and takes care of cleaning the rest of the tables upstairs. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas rushes down in a hurry, still looking kind of guilty, and he stops only when he reaches the handle of the door. He turns around to meet Newt’s eyes and he finally smiles. It seems to make his whole body relax, and when he raises a hand in the air in what Newt assumes being an half-wave too shy to be bolder, he mirrors it with a smirk, feeling like a little kid crushing for the first time.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>there will be more chapters of this, but i don’t know when they’ll be out! i have already planned some things to happen to make them get to know each other, so stay tuned eheh</p><p>title is from dogs eating dogs by blink-182</p><p>you can find me on <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/hybristophilica">tumblr</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/hybristophilica">twitter</a> &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A bit like him</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Thomas feels guilty and reaches out quickly to take the coffee to let Newt escape. They hold gazes for a few seconds, and even though Thomas is now the one wanting to ask questions, he doesn’t."</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tags have been updated and they contain spoilers, kind of; be mindful reading if there's something that could trigger you! nothing is explicit by the way, everything is only mentioned/acknowledged </p><p>enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas ponders about going to a different cafe, the next day. He had dared too much already, yesterday, heading to the Maze cafe for the second time in the afternoon. He blames the fact that the coffee shop is situated right behind the corner of the street the publishing house is in. Thomas started working there less than a week ago, and he’s still trying to find his way around the streets and get used to the unfamiliar neighborhood. Finding the Maze Cafe on his way to work had been a miracle, because he’d been too late to have breakfast at home and still needed his daily dose of caffeine to function. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But going there the second time had been a rational decision, and this time he blames the barista that served him, the cute blonde with the sarcastic smile. There was something in the way he had looked at him that made Thomas want to know more, and he’d been dragged back in.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now, he finds himself in the same situation. He’s standing at the corner of the street, leaning against the turned off street lamp. From where he is, he can see the shop’s sign and entrance, but he’s too far to peek who’s standing behind the counter. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yesterday he’d managed to focus like he hadn’t in a while, in that cafe. He’s still a bit behind with the articles to write, so the thought of a full immersion of work while he sipped coffee is alluring. On the other hand, he isn’t sure he won’t feel disappointed if he goes inside and the barista of yesterday isn’t there. Because yes, he is also part of the reason Thomas wants to get back into the Maze.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It is during that moment of indecision that the doors of the cafe open, and the barista comes out with a cigarette between his lips. Before he knows it, Thomas is hiding. Behind a freaking street lamp. Yes. The barista doesn’t notice him however, and lights the cigarette up with a grin directed to someone inside the shop. Thomas watches him take a drag and relax his shoulders, leaning against one of the parked cars in front of the sidewalk, probably on break. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That makes Thomas take his decision, and after the barista has crushed the butt of the cigarette on the ground, he lets a few minutes pass before walking inside of the cafe. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s early in the afternoon, and, just like the day before, he finds the place almost empty. The guy welcoming him behind the counter isn’t the one Thomas was looking for, though. The asian handsome man whose badge reads <em>Minho </em>asks him what he can prepare for him, and Thomas answers that a simple black coffee extra large will do. While Minho prepares his order, the curtains that Thomas assumes lead to the back of the shop are pulled to the side. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And there he is, the other barista, the one to tip the balance of Thomas’s decision. He’s carrying a heavy looking box full of coffee pods, with his eyebrows furrowed in effort, but the moment he comes out and sees Thomas he stumbles on his feet and almost drops the entire box, if it wasn’t for Minho’s fast reflexes and wide arms ready to catch. The box is placed securely on top of the counter and Thomas can’t help a small smile of amusement as he watches Minho try to laugh secretively and fail, and the other barista blushes violently. He mutters a soft “Sorry,” before disappearing behind the curtains again, and Thomas’s stomach churns. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t mind him, I promise he’s not always like that,” Minho says, handing Thomas his beverage. “He can be even worse.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I heard you!” And indignant complaint follows, and that’s when Thomas really starts chuckling. He thanks for his coffee and heads upstairs, taking place at another little table in front of the balcony since the one he sat on yesterday is already occupied. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He starts writing on his laptop, taking a sip of coffee between a paragraph and another, and when the other barista finally comes out to relieve Minho, who’s leaving, Thomas directs him a small wave of his hand. He would be lying if he said he didn't really want to get to know the guy. Starting from his name, maybe. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The barista looks surprised for a moment when he understand that Thomas is waving at him, but then he waves back, and it’s enough to make Thomas’s insides squirm. With renewed energy, he starts typing again, hundreds of words sparkling effortlessly off his fingers like electricity, and before he knows it he’s emptied his cup and he’s not nearly close to finishing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He stands up, leaving his equipment all over the table, and heads downstairs to the counter, where an old lady with a bright red bag is chuckling with the barista. While the two chat confidently, Thomas squints his eyes a little, focusing on the badge pinned at his chest. <em>Newt. His name is Newt.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The old lady notices Thomas in line behind her and hastens her greetings, squeezing Newt’s cheek affectionately and giving Thomas a polite nod of her head before exiting. She looked like she’s known Newt for a long while, and the thought makes Thomas wonder for how long he’s been working here. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, Thomas,” Newt says when he sees him approach, and there’s a note of fondness in the words, as if he’s…happy to see him again, or glad that he’s remembered the correct name. Thomas bets on the latter. “What can I prepare for you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas shows him his empty cup and hands it over. “Only a refill of black coffee, please.” Newt nods and complies, eyeing him curiously. He looks like he wants to ask hims something but doesn’t dare to, and Thomas has to admit he prefers it that way. It’s been only two days since he came here, and he’s already falling back into old habits. No wonder people notice it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Anyway, when Newt offers him the newly refilled cup, something catches his eyes. Something that makes every other single thought jump out of his head and leave it empty. Newt’s arm is still lifted in the air in the act of handing the coffee, but the movement caused his long sleeve to slip up, and Thomas can’t not notice the long white scars running from one side of his wrist to the other. There are many, some lighter, some darker, long and short, disappearing under the sleeve. Thomas doesn’t want to assume there are just as many on the other wrist, but the thought alone causes a tight vice at the pit of his stomach. He’s stared too much, and now Newt notices where his eyes have fallen. There’s an almost imperceptible twitch of his arm, as if he wanted to pull away because of the foreign watchful gaze on him, but he’s still holding the cup. Thomas feels guilty and reaches out quickly to take the coffee to let Newt escape. They hold gazes for a few seconds, and even though Thomas is now the one wanting to ask questions, he doesn’t. Instead, he gives Newt a short nod to thank him for the order and walks back upstairs. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">No matter how hard he tries, he doesn’t manage to write a single word down. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That afternoon, Newt leaves before Minho but he doesn’t even glance at Thomas, who has instead raised his head up to watch him. Newt limps on one leg that moves stiffly, and Thomas isn’t sure if he was limping the day before as well or if he simply hadn’t paid it attention. There are apparently quite a few things Thomas hasn’t noticed about him. It’s normal. After all, they don’t know anything about each other but their name, and maybe that is exactly what spurs Thomas to want to go on, to want to know him better. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He hasn’t managed to finish the article he should have, and he’s starting to fall behind with his stories too, so, when he arrives home feeling undeservedly tired, he’s quick to eat and shower and promptly slips into bed. Blade, his silver grey cat, joins him soon after and starts purring when Thomas scratches it behind one ear. He reaches out for the pills on the nightstands and swallows two of them with half glass of water, and, while he waits for them to have effect, his mind shifts back to Newt. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He hadn’t meant to pry, even less to make him uncomfortable, and he hoped that it wouldn’t make things between them more tense. Thomas intended to go back to the Maze Cafe and he intended to get to know Newt, in one way or another. If the other…allowed it, of course. There was something about him that hooked him, he couldn’t explain it. Maybe it was because, after Teresa, he was finally feeling a spark of <em>something</em> inside of him. If in the end it would reveal itself to be nothing more than a childish crush, a light hearted infatuation, then so be it. But Thomas’s gut rarely is wrong. And in that moment, with sleep starting to twist its reluctant fingers around his mind, it tells him that it was the right move to do, getting closer to Newt.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The next day he spends the whole morning in the publishing house, sitting at his desk like a good boy and writing exactly what his boss compelled him to. The more he rereads through it, the more he hates it. It has no soul, it’s completely dry and he’s almost ashamed he has to turn in such a piece of trash with his name at the bottom, but since yesterday afternoon he hasn’t managed to accomplish anything, it would have to do. He can’t afford to be late.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">To his right, Alby clears his throat. “Bad day?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas sighs with a shrug and scratches the back of his head. “Been distracted,” he admits, glossing over the reason of said distraction. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Aren’t you always?” Alby teased with a malicious smirk. He’s right, obviously, Thomas <em>is</em> often, too often, distracted, but it’s not like he can help it, and it hurts. Albs doesn’t know what he’s talking about. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” Thomas drily replies, not dignifying the other with another glance. The morning was almost over, he just had to endure a little longer. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Luckily, Chuck arrives from the secondary entrance of their office, offering Thomas the lifeline he needed. “Chucky! Here you are. What did you need? Your message worried me,” Thomas blurts messily, gesturing at his phone and hoping his friend would just catch the hint. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chuck tilts his head in confusion and Thomas sees his mouth open in a question that’s surely about to give him away. He rushes on his feet, wrapping one arm around his shoulders. “Let’s go talk alone, shall we?” And so they walk outside. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chuck pulls away with a frown, pointing a thumb at the door. “What was that about?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas rubs his face, leaning against Chuck’s desk. “Alby’s just being a dick and I don’t wanna deal with him right now, that’s all.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The other laughs, collecting his files and some newspapers from the table, shoving everything in the backpack. “I just came to ask you if you wanted to come to my apartment to work today. I was planning to cook something, and you can stay the night if it gets too late?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That is one tempting offer. Thomas and Chuck have been working together for a couple of years now, and they transferred together for this new job. Chuck knows about his problems very well, unlike Alby. That’s why he asked Thomas if he wanted to spend the afternoon working in his house, because he knew it could help him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But this time it isn’t Teresa who keeps his mind racing and away from work. This time, if Thomas wants to find some rest of mind, he’d have to face Newt directly. Running away doesn’t work, it never worked, even if Thomas understood it too late.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I can’t come in the afternoon. There’s somewhere I have to be,” Thomas declines, tapping the desk with his fingers. Before Chuck can complain or try to convince him, Thomas adds, “but I can take you up on that dinner. It’s been a while since we partied.” He playfully punches Chuck’s arm, walking with him outside of the office, using the other exit, so that Alby won’t see them. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Arriving at the corner of the street, Thomas stops walking. “Alright, my stop.” He points at the cafe, awkwardly adjusting the strap of the bag on his shoulder. He can’t exactly read the expression on Chuck’s face, but it’s something similar to amusement, perhaps. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay Thomas, I don’t know when you became a coffee shop type of guy, but I won’t ask,” he chuckles, waving at him before heading the other way to take the bus.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Yeah, thank you for that, </em>Thomas thinks, smiling to himself as he makes his way to the Maze Cafe. He pushes the door open and almost slams it accidentally against Newt’s pretty face. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh my God, I’m sorry!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt has taken a quick step back, eyes wide that stay like that even when they lay on Thomas. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You alright? Sorry I didn't see you before,” Thomas apologizes, cursing himself for burning all the chances he’s hoped to have with him. But Newt seems to relax, anyway. He’s wearing a leather jacket and black ripped jeans, and Thomas realizes it’s the first time he sees him in casual clothes. He looks so <em>fine</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No worries. I was just going to get lunch. Just finished my shift for now,” Newt says, walking past him but not quite leaving yet. He’s hesitating. Thomas sees the chances and takes it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, me too! Maybe we could grab a bite together?” <em>Please say yes. Please say yes.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt looks at him with surprise and he opens his mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. He clears his throat and rubs his chin awkwardly and God, he looks so fucking cute. “Sure,” he replies at last. Thomas grins, feeling a wave of relief and childlike euphoria spread inside of him. They walk out together, both avoiding to look at each other. If that means that Newt can even remotely feel some kind of interest in him, then Thomas is glad it is that way.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So,” he breaks the ice, “where do you usually eat when you finish the morning shift?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt places a cigarette between his lips and lights it, but then stops and turns to glance at Thomas with a <em>Do you mind? </em>look. When Thomas shakes his head, he takes a puff and blows the smoke out. Thomas isn’t a fan of smoking, but he has to admit Newt does it so gracefully it’s almost pleasing to watch him do it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There’s a fast food at the end of the street, or a sushi restaurant, but I prefer going to a little family-run restaurant a couple of blocks away,” Newt says. When he lowers the hand with the cigarette, he points it at Thomas. “Are you new in the area, by the way? If you don’t mind me asking.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas follows him as they cross the street. “Yeah. I just got transferred for work and I’m still adjusting,” he says, glad that Newt asked. He seems to be more laid back than before, which allows Thomas to do the same. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They enter a narrow alley with some fast-paced song echoing through the walls, and as Newt guides Thomas further, he spots the entrance of the restaurant the music is coming from. When they step inside, a tall, overweight man welcomes them with open arms.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Newt! It was about time you showed around again! Been too busy for us?” The man laughs, wiping his hands on the apron wrapped around his waist as he walks closer. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt mirrors his smile and reaches a small table at the side of the room. There’s a red and white checkered cloth on it and a set of used candles the man promptly lights up. Newt and Thomas sit on opposite sides. “Work has been frenzy lately, yes. I hope you’ll forgive me, Tony,” Newt teases with a cheeky grin, opening the menu and hinting at Thomas to do the same with a nod of his chin. They order a single course each and hand the menus to back the cook -waiter?- that soon disappears again, leaving them alone. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas looks around just not to look at Newt. The restaurant is indeed tiny, but the atmosphere is cozy and informal and he couldn’t ask for anything better honestly. Cozy and informal is exactly what he wants to be around Newt. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt breaks the silence first this time. “Anyway, Thomas. You know what I do for a living, but what do you do instead? You…write? ” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas quickly looks back at him, straightening. “I write,” he confirms. When Newt’s eyebrows shoot up in expectation, as though he’s waiting for him to elaborate the answer, Thomas goes on. “I work for a publishing house. I mostly work on short articles for books and reviews of such, it’s nothing impressive or anything.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think it’s pretty impressive,” Newt is quick to comment, bringing his glass of water to his lips before adding, “and do you write something else too? Or are articles your brand?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas squirms a little on his seat, fidgeting with the fabric of his pants. “I…I get paid to write articles.” He knows it’s not the answer to what Newt asked.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt’s gaze is intense. He’s looking at him with suspicion, then leans forward on the table. “But that’s not everything you write, am I wrong?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dammit. Thomas looks away. “I write stories in my free time. Some short stories…and there’s a novel in progress,” he mutters, glad that the arrival of a waitress bringing their food interrupts the piercing gaze of Newt. When she leaves, Thomas starts eating and so does Newt, but it’s clear that the other hasn’t let him off the hook again. And in fact, after two bites, he swallows and points his fork at Thomas. “Why don’t you get paid to write stories, then? Why not sell them?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas shrugs. He thinks about lying and telling him he did sell them, or that he would. But he’s just starting to know Newt and he doesn’t want to build whatever kind of relationship would come out of this on a lie. “I have never submitted anything to anyone.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt frowns and remains silent for some seconds, resting against the back of the seat. He’s thinking of questions to ask, Thomas can see it in the wrinkle between his eyebrows, but in the end he doesn’t. Thomas sighs in silent relief. Talking about his cowardice isn’t exactly pleasing, and he really wants to have a pleasant meal with Newt right now. So he decides to change topic, and points at the man smiling at them behind the kitchen counter. “It looks like you’re a regular here. You come here that often?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The other chuckles and Thomas feels his insides jiggle like a kid in front of a firework show. He’s so lovely when he laughs. “Well, yes. I started coming here when I’d just been hired at the Maze Cafe. I didn't really know my way around and stumbled upon this place by accident. I liked it, so I started coming back. A bit like you, after all.” Newt smirks, crossing his arms at the chest once he empties his plate. Thomas feels his cheeks warm, but he smiles too. A bit like him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What can I say, the black coffee you made me the first day was just so good,” he says, leaning his chin on the palm of his hand. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt laughs. “Only the coffee? Nothing to say about the amazing service <em>and </em>barista?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas’s eyes are soft and amused, because Newt isn’t anything like he’d imagined. He’s ten times better. “Mh, let me think,” he mumbles, tapping the index against his chin. “Yeah, you’re right, that Minho was pretty good.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Damn, Tommy, you break my heart.” Newt jokes clenching a hand at the chest, but he’s laughing and everything feels so light and easy with him, Thomas almost mourns the moment Tony brings them the check. He offers to pay, because he’s grateful that Newt brought him here and was so available to show him around, but Newt refuses. They end up splitting.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When they leave, Thomas notices that they’re walking closer to each other than when they’d arrived. He doesn’t change that. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you coming to the cafe again?” Newt casually asks, looking in front of him as they go back along the street they came from. The question makes Thomas happy on another level. Is Newt expecting a yes? Because he’s definitely getting one.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah. I managed to work well the last two times,” he answers, walking with him in direction of the coffee shop. “Also, there’s a really nice barista I want to see again, so might just as well kill two birds with one stone.” <em>Oh God. Oh my God. Why did I just say that. </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt’s steps falters and he clears his throat, silent. Thomas bites his tongue, cursing himself for being so straightforward and unnecessarily blunt. He’d feel like shit if he made Newt uncomfortable in the slightest.Newt bows his head, but Thomas notices the glint that shines in his eyes. “Then maybe you should come more often.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That leaves him gaping, because it almost sounds like Newt is…flirting back. He could bet money his cheeks were blushing, so he keeps his head low as Newt and he reach the cafe. They enter together and part ways, Newt heading to the back of the shop, probably to put his uniform on, while Thomas reaches what is becoming his usual little table. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The afternoon passes smoothly. Thomas manages to write not one, not two, but <em>three</em> articles, and it feel so good to be back on track like that. Lunch with Newt had filled him with a sense of calm he hadn’t experienced in a long while. Not after…her. It just felt so right to be around Newt. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Every now and then, Newt catches him staring but he doesn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, he either waves at Thomas with small gestures or he politely smiles back. He even winks at him once, and Thomas chokes on his coffee. Yes, just feels right. So, even though he’s still nervous and a little bit anxious about it, when Thomas gathers his documents and laptop from the table, he leaves a small note at their place. A note with his number, signed <em>T</em>. And when he leaves the shop, waving at Newt behind the counter, he pauses on the threshold, hoping he can get his real feeling across with a single look. Newt’s eyes catch his gaze, but he limits himself at nodding at Thomas, so he leaves. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">On his way to Chuck’s house, he almost regrets leaving that note. Not because he changed his mind about Newt, not at all, but because he fears he’d get disappointed if Newt wouldn’t call or message. Thomas knows he has no right to expect that from him. They were…nothing. Acquaintances at best. They didn't know much about each other beside the few topics they’d discussed at lunch, so expecting Newt to welcome this level of confidence Thomas was trying to take shouldn’t be something to be taken for granted. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chuck’s house is like a second home to him, even if his best friend has just transferred here as well. It doesn’t matter where, if Chuck is there, then it is home. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The moment Thomas enters, because he’s got the keys, a delicious smell of spices fills his nostrils and instantly makes him forget about his worries. Tonight is for Chuck and he alone. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey champ, what are you cooking? It smells great.” He makes his way into the kitchen, finding Chuck with a ridiculous Kiss The Cook apron, fumbling with pans.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Spiced chicken! Can you set the table while I finish? It’s not going to take long.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas drops his bag in the living room and washes his hands before complying, then turns the tv on. Food is soon ready and served, and they eat in a comfortable, familiar silence, laughing at the dumb writing of a comedy movie. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nights at Chuck’s are always like this, and even if they can get monotonous after a while, Thomas wouldn’t exchange them for anything else in the world. Chuck knows him almost better than he knows himself. That’s probably why he’s so easy to be around, the brother Thomas never had.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now that they’re laying side by side on the sofa with chase lounge after dinner, with a new tv show playing in front of them, Thomas sinks back into the pillows and stretches with a yawn. It’s been a long day and an even longer week, and he’s starting to feel the weight of it really. He allows himself to doze off because Chuck has done the same, if his soft snoring is anything to go by. Just when sleep is pulling him away without the need of a pill, a ping from his phone jolts him awake again. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s a new message from an unknown number. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>‘Tommy?’</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas’s heart starts beating faster.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i noticed half way into this chapter that I basically wrote a “love at first sight” fic. and no, i don’t regret it lol</p><p>this was so much fun to write, very cheesy and self-indulgent, but i hope you’ll like it anyway! remember to subscribe for future updates on this&lt;3</p><p>you can find me on <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/hybristophilica">tumblr</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/hybristophilica">twitter</a>, don’t be shy to come say hi or just rant about newtmas eheh</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Tiny pieces of puzzles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“He’s the one that walked alone though the doors of the Maze Cafè and caught Newt’s eyes by doing nothing but being himself, looking like Newt’s chance at a new life. It was like fate was telling Newt, “Hey, here’s your opportunity. You have no excuses not to take it, but it’s up to you anyway!” and fuck that, honestly.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>before you read, i want to thank everyone that has commented or left kudos on this fic from the bottom of my heart. i would have never expected this kind of support, and it kind of made me tear up a couple of times lol so, really, thank you</p><p>i hope you’ll enjoy this chapter too&lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt’s cleaning the tables, balancing seven mugs in one tray only while he wipes away crumbs of brownies and donuts with the other hand. Minho and Ben have left already, traitors, and he’s left with the last shift alone, which means, in this case, all the cleaning. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He puts the tray on the counter once he’s finished with the lower floor, then he limps upstairs, starting from the table Thomas had occupied that afternoon. He’s about to throw the wet cloth on the surface of the table when something catches his eye. It’s a note, a ripped corner of paper like the one of a diary, or a notebook. And scribbled down on it there’s a cellphone number signed T. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt puts the paper down like it just burnt his fingertips and stares at it so intensely he could be the one setting it on fire. Holy shit. Is that Thomas’s number? Because if it is, Newt wasn’t exactly expecting it. Sure, part of him tells him Thomas is at least a little interested in him. They’d spent a good time together indeed yesterday and the looks they gave one another left very little to imagination, or room for wide doubts. But another part of him, the worst part of him, keeps telling Newt he’s only imagining this. It tells him that this is something he can’t reach, something— someone Newt can’t get. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s a constant battle inside of his head, a gunfight of dissonant opinions that leaves him breathless at times, but that he’s somehow learned how to live with. That doesn’t mean it’s easy, because it’s not. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His hand slowly reaches out again, brushing against the blue numbers. Thomas left his number here for him to find, Newt couldn’t not believe that. He grabs the piece of paper and stares at it for several seconds, biting the inside of his cheek. He slides it in the back pocket of the jeans and starts cleaning up the tables again, but distracted and in a rush. There’s a moment when his lips are pulled into a short smile, and he allows himself to feel a tiny sparkle of hope blossom inside of him, and, for once, he doesn’t blow it out.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt’s home is only a few bus stops away from the Maze Cafè. When he arrives, the first thing he does is turn the air conditioning out and kick his shoes away. Then he stalls in the middle of the room, taking the note out of his pocket. He places it on the table of the living room, hoping to forget about it, but while he cooks dinner he can practically feel its presence there, and it’s bugging him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dammit. Why would Tommy even leave it there. He could have simply given it to me. Right? Right? But no, let’s leave the bloody choice to Newt. Sure Tommy, sure. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt has no intention of texting him. He took the note just because some weirdo could have found it in his place, not because he wanted to call Thomas. Maybe it isn’t even his phone number. It could be a joke and Newt could find himself at the phone with a drug dealer, or a lonely spinster, or an chinese take-away restaurant, for all he knew. And if it actually is someone’s number, Newt can’t be sure it’s Thomas. The T could be a Tim’s, or a Tiffany’s, or a Trevor’s. Not necessarily Thomas. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">He leaves the note where it is and sits on the couch, turning the television on while he eats. However, the lame reality show that’s on at the moment does little to take his mind off. It’s stupid and Newt feels like an idiot for letting something so mundane like a scribbled cell number get to him so much.</span> <span class="s1">But, on the other hand, it’s been so long since he’s felt like this around someone. Newt has never been in a serious relationship of the long lasting kind, blame his not always accommodating character, blame the depression, but he can’t deny that he wants to try, now that he could. Now that he can. He’s not saying it has to be with Thomas of course, but Thomas is the one that awoke that hope. He’s the one that walked alone though the doors of the Maze Cafè and caught Newt’s eyes by doing nothing but being himself, looking like Newt’s chance at a new life. It was like fate was telling Newt, “Hey, here’s your opportunity. You have no excuses not to take it, but it’s up to you anyway!” and fuck that, honestly.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was a couple of hours later, after a never ending ruminating of the most disparate thoughts, that Newt actually said Fuck you to fate, and texted who he hoped was really Thomas. He puts the phone down, screen to the ceiling, and bites his lip nervously as he waits for a reply. A reply that will never arrive, maybe.  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Not after much, the Fuck you comes back at him like a boomerang, as if destiny was indignant that Newt doubted, under the form of a texted ‘<em>Newt</em>?’.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt reaches for his phone, feeling a weird, deep sense of fear that could also be only a wave of relief washing through him. That must be Thomas. He replies more quickly than he’d like, but he can’t help himself. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘<em>Hey, yes. Found your note. Hope you don’t mind if I used it. Also hope it was for me.</em>’ </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He throws the phone on the pillow on the other side of the couch, shifting his gaze back to the television. Look at him, waiting for a boy to reply to his texts as if he’s still in middle school and he’s trying to get a crumb of attention from someone that clearly doesn’t want to give it to him. He feels like the same boy that was rejected again and again, and, at the same time, he feels like a completely different person. Newt knows he is, and he knows Thomas isn’t Winston, and the circumstances between them couldn’t be more different. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Still, that doesn’t change the fact that he’s as tense as a bowstring, and he flinches when the phone rings with the notification of a new message.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘<em>Of course it was.</em>’</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And then another right after. ‘<em>I’m glad you used it. Really.</em>’</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt swallows, staring at the screen and torturing the hangnails on his ring finger. He leans back against the back of the couch, chewing on his lip as he thinks, maybe a little bit too hard, on what to reply. He doesn’t want to fuck it up with a text, but studying the words to say sounds too dry and impersonal. Newt doesn’t want that. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘<em>Not gonna lie, I thought about leaving it where it was, but it sounded like a lost chance.</em>’</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas replies instantly. ‘<em>It would have. For me.</em>’ </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Oh God, is he flirting right now? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt rolls on top of a cushion, smiling at the phone as he types a quick ‘<em>Lucky you I was bored tonight then.</em>’ Maybe a pinch too sassy, but he presses Send before he could delete it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This time, it takes Thomas a while to reply. Newt wonders if he’s fallen asleep, which could be. It’s past midnight after all. He puts the plates in the sink and he’s just started to wash them when the phone rings again. With a jump deign of a cat’s, he dries his hands quickly and reaches for it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Holy shit,” he whispers to himself, wide-eyed and gaping. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘<em>If you happen to be bored Friday night too, do you mind coming to dinner with me? Maybe after your shift?</em>’ is what the text recited. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas is asking him out. This time even the voices at the back of Newt’s head have to stay quiet in front of such…clarity. There’s no other way to interpret those words. Thomas is inviting him to a date. Newt swallows and he has to take some time for himself to elaborate the fact, because he knew Thomas was honest and straightforward, a bit like himself sometimes, but this was too much. Not that he doesn’t like it! He just isn’t used to it, and he leans against the sink while he formulates the reply in a way that doesn’t sound completely desperate. It kind of sounds lame, though, and childish. But for today Newt feels like he can afford that. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘<em>Would love to. At the Maze after the late shift. I look forward to it.</em>’</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">—-</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s unusual for Thomas to feel energetic in the morning, or being able to find the strength to do more than simply dragging himself out of bed, but today is different. Today is Friday and he feels motivated, and with a good reason different than work related success.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gets ready quickly and then crawls in the kitchen, where he finds Chuck with a cup of coffee already in his hand. He’s slept at his house again because he was to spend the night alone. “Morning, pretty boy,” Chuck greets with a cheeky smile. Thomas shakes his head, walking past him to grab the bottle of milk from the fridge. “Did your boyfriend text you anything else?” Chuck’s head prompts popping out from behind the hatch.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas pours himself some milk and rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling behind the edge of the glass. “He’s not my boyfriend, and no, he didn't say anything else. We’ll go to dinner together and that’s it, I already told you.” He throws his head back as he drinks all the milk in one quick gulp, then pats Chuck’s shoulder. “But I’ll keep you informed, okay? I gotta run now, I can’t be late again.” Chuck had the free day, he didn’t. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright mate, but keep me updated! I’m the one that made you dumbasses get together!” Chuck calls behind him while Thomas is chuckling and gathering his stuff around the house. He leaves Chuck’s apartment with a smile plastered on his face, and not even the cloudy sky he finds outside can change that. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas wouldn’t exactly say that Chuck made him and Newt get a date together, but he did give Thomas the courage and the little push he needed. When that night Newt messaged him, Thomas panicked a little and he wasn’t completely reacting objectively to the situation at hand. He didn't have the guts to admit to himself, figure to Newt, how much he wanted to actually go out with him, and that was when Chuck came into action.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chuck knows what buttons to press and what not. He knows that he can’t force Thomas to take that step if he doesn’t want to, and he knows what kind of fear pools in Thomas’s heart at the idea of a potential relationship, and he definitely knows that the mere mention of the differences between Teresa and Newt is enough to tip the balance. That gave Thomas the motivation he needed to ask Newt out, and he was grateful for it. Thomas had gone to the coffee shop every day through the week, working proficiently and flirting just a little with Newt, but just because he flirted back. They texted at night mostly, when neither of them was swamped with work, when Thomas was scared to lay in the cold sheets of the bed.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Work hours pass rather slowly. Alby lets him be, for once, and Thomas manages to type down a decent review or two by the end of the morning. When he gets off it’s raining and he doesn’t have an umbrella, so he has to wait for Alby to finish before he can scrounge a ride to the Maze Cafè. “Didn’t take you for the coffee shop type of guy, Thomas,” Albs teases while Thomas gets off.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You wouldn’t be the first one. Thanks for the ride Alby, I’ll catch you tomorrow, man.” Thomas sprints as quickly as he manages, hiding underneath the briefcase that does little to nothing to shield him from the water. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Just as he enters, he finds another dozen people like him, waiting for the rain to stop in front of the doors at the entrance. Thomas avoids the elbow of a pissed girl yelling at her phone while making his way through the small crowd. He can’t help but throw a quick glance at the counter. There’s Minho alone, taking care of the orders, while Newt and another guy Thomas has never seen are handing towels here and there, trying to keep the rain refugees to one side and contain the inevitable flooding on the floor.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas heads upstairs and sits down on one of the few empty stools placed in front of a tabletop, ready to work. The rain doesn’t stop for a while, but it does get weaker after half an hour, and most people take the chance to leave in the brief moment of mercy.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As much as Thomas wants to stay put and mind his business, his stomach gives out a traitorous growl of hunger he really can’t ignore. He feels bad having to distract on of the guys for his lunch when they’re already so busy cleaning up the mess of water and dirt at the entrance, but he’s starving and he can’t really work on a empty stomach, so he gets up with a sigh and walks to the counter.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey there! One second!” Minho recognizes him with a smile, waving at him while he’s crouched behind the cash register. Thomas sees him thinker with a mat before he gets up again and quickly washes his hands. “What can I do for you mate?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just here to eat a bite. Anything you’ve got is good to me,” Thomas answers, eyeing the daily offering of food behind the glass under his nose. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That hungry, uh? Well man, it’s your lucky day, ‘cause Frypan managed to brings us these beauties just a moment before the sky started falling,” Minho laughs, reaching for a paper bag filled with round, small savory cakes stuffed with cold cuts and showing it to Thomas as if it was the Holy Grail. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas chuckles, nodding. “More than fine. Give me three of those and a black coffee. Big, please.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Coming right away!” While Minho starts preparing his tray, Thomas turns around, looking at Newt. He has some sweaty blonde locks of hair stuck on his forehead while he helps an old lady walk to the nearest chair, holding her up by the arm not to let her slip on the wet floor. The other barista is trying to calm down the girl that was shouting at the phone before, and now that the crowd isn’t a crowd anymore but a scattered group of upset people frowning and complaining to the two poor baristas, the whole scene is actually pretty funny to witness. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Newt turns around to grab a broom, he meets Thomas’ gaze and stills for a second. He’s a little embarrassed at first, it seems, but a smile soon takes place on his face when Thomas waves at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">After Minho hands him the tray, Thomas moves to the now free spot at the usual table.</span> <span class="s1">The few people that have remained begin to leave in the first hours of the afternoon, which Thomas spends slowly in between broken pieces of articles and small peeks at what Newt is currently up to. Nevertheless it’s raining outside and Thomas can’t help but wonder if it will stop in time before their dinner. If it doesn’t, they would have to reschedule, and Thomas isn’t sure he would manage to ask Newt out again. Not even with Chuck’s help. So he passes another couple of hours sitting at the table, sipping the second cup of coffee of the day and trying to rehearse an expression that doesn’t look pathetically disappointed for the moment Newt would dump him because of the rain.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s lost in thought, staring out of the window, when somebody clears his throat beside him. It’s Minho. “Hey man, sorry, we’re about to close.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s bitterness on his tongue. Coffee and disappointed taste like that. Newt is nowhere to be seen, and maybe he’s already left, assuming their night out was canceled because of the rain while Thomas was busy writing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas gets ready and grabs his bag, hopping down the stairs and heading to the door. There’s no point in hoping the rain would stop now. He still doesn’t have an umbrella, and the prospect of walking home under the water alone is really the icing on the cake of an evening of delusions. He pulls the handle of the door open with a sigh, and the downpour of rain fills the cafe. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, wait for me!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His heart skips a beat and he whips his head around. Newt is fumbling with the scarf around his neck and half of his coat is off while he reaches Thomas at the entrance with the usual light limp. He grins, patting Thomas’s back friendly. “What, did you think I forgot?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, yes. Maybe didn’t forget, but cancel? Yes,” Thomas admitted, hoping that wouldn’t sound rude or anything.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt shakes his head, pulling the handle of the other half of the door open. “Nah, a little rain doesn’t scare me,” Newt says, his foot already on the threshold. He’s ready to leave, but then stops to look at Thomas. “Wait. Do you not want to go anymore?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you?” Thomas replies, dazed. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt hesitates, drops his hand and then raises it again, but avoids looking back at Thomas. “Yeah, I still do. But I understand if you think it’s better to postpone,” he says softly, patting Thomas’s shoulder again. “See you around then, Tommy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas reaches out without realizing, stopping Newt by the arm. Their eyes meet and for a second Thomas thinks he’s being an idiot and he’s trying to save the unsavable. “I still want to,” he mutters, slowly letting go of Newt. “But where could we go with this rain?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt smirks, cocking his head. “Do you leave nearby?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Me? You wanna come to my place?” Thomas dumbly answers, then rubs his chin and shrugs. “I mean, sure. It’s a five minutes walk so—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry to interrupt you lovebirds, but I’d love to get out,” Minho shows up out of nowhere, making both of them flinch self consciously. Thomas’s cheeks blush, while Newt avoids the moment of awkwardness by punching his friend on the shoulder not so gently. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bloody hell, I thought you’d already left!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was waiting for you guys to go so I could lock everything up, but since you’re taking an eternity I’ll leave that to you. See you tomorrow!” Minho shouts over the thunder roaring in that moment, waving at them with the free hand, then runs out under the rain and soon disappears behind the corner. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt groans, shoving his hand in the pocket of the leather jacket and grabbing the keychain from it. “Come on, let’s get out, we’ll figure what to do later.” And so they step outside with the rain pouring freely over them while Newt struggles to find the right key and slide it in the lock. The situation is so strange and hilarious that, even if his loafers and sweater are getting soaked, Thomas chuckles. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s so funny?!” Newt asks loudly, finally managing to lock the shop up. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas walks across the street, Newt follows right after. “Nothing, I was just thinking that it’s a strange date.” Oh shit. “I mean. Not that it’s a date. Not if you don’t want—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I want to, Tommy,” Newt interrupts him quickly, walking fast beside him. Thomas’s stomach clenches with butterflies and he forgets how to breathe for a second because Newt has just admitted and accepted this as a date. It feels too good to be true, but Thomas forces the thought out of his head and focuses on the rhythm of their steps on the wet concrete.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">By the time they arrive at Thomas’s apartment, they’re drenched in rain. They stumble inside, wetting the floor of the entrance hall and Thomas hushes Newt when he starts apologizing for the mess he’s making, then he leaves to get some towels to dry themselves with, taking the chance to kick his dirty underwear under the bed and collect other clothes from the bedroom floor.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Here, take these.” He hands Newt a couple of towels, helping him take off his jacket without making a puddle at his feet. They remove their shoes and let them drain in a corner, but Thomas realizes that’s not even the real problem, because all of their clothes are soaked with water and the shoes are only the tip of the iceberg. If they don’t change clothes soon they’ll either make a mess and catch a cold. “Uhm. I think I need to take a shower before we eat. You can take one too if you want, of course. Wouldn’t want you to get sick,” Thomas offers with a smile, guiding Newt inside of the apartment. “Wait for me here, I’ll be as quick as I can. Oh, another thing. Can you order pizza for us?” He asks, then smirks. “I’ll take your favorite.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">—</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After Thomas disappears in the hallways, Newt feels flustered yet. The continuous uncertainty of what they’re doing is eating him alive, but it’s hard to misread the signs when Thomas is being so open about it. Really, Newt, get a grip. He orders two pizzas from an italian restaurant, and decides to take a look around while Thomas showers. This evening isn’t going like he’d imagined at all, but he’s not complaining. Dinner at Thomas’s doesn’t sound bad. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt walks through the apartment in the wait. It’s rather small, but since Thomas lives here alone it shouldn’t be a problem for him. What struck Newt as uncommon, though, is the coldness and shallowness of it, almost impersonal, so different from Newt’s place, which is a mess of ugly paintings and vinyl records and shelves full of ornaments and tiny bells. One could blame the fact that Thomas has been living here for a short time, but something’s telling Newt there’s more underneath that. There’s nothing to indicate what kind of person lives here, no decorations or magazines or books laying around, nothing but— a cat. Thomas has a cat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi there, little guy.” Newt kneels down when the cat comes closer to his legs and reaches for his fingers with its snout, sniffing his hand. “You got a name?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Blade,” Thomas confides behind him. Newt turns around, finding Thomas leaning against the doorjamb with his arms crossed and a towel around his neck. He’s changed clothes and the black shirt he put on fits him just fine. Newt clears his throat and looks at the cat again, rubbing his thumb on its chin. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A real pleasure to make your acquaintance, Blade,” he mumbles, standing up and trying his best not to stare at Thomas too much.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas smiles weakly when Newt passes past him. “Shower is all yours. I left clean towels right outside.” After thanking him, Newt hides in the bathroom as fast as he can. This is already awkward enough, he doesn’t really need to make it worse with his rude staring when Thomas is letting him borrow his shower.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt showers quickly, a couple of minutes top, and feeling guilty because he used hot water, and when he steps out of the shower he avoids looking into the mirror. The towels Thomas left for him leave a scent of lavender on his skin. It feels strangely nice, despite the unfamiliarity of the whole situation. That is until Newt realizes that his wet clothes are scattered all over the floor of the bathroom and he doesn’t have any dry ones. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Crap.” He’s careful to drain as best as he can his hair especially, not wanting to drip all along the hallway when he slowly opens the door and steps out. His chest and hips are wrapped up with towels and he feels absolutely silly walking around like that, but it’s not like he has many other choices. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thomas?” He calls, his head popping from behind the corner. He shivers and ventures through the house. “Tommy?” He tries again, but Thomas has disappeared. “I need some clothes! Mine are soaked, I’m sorry!” He shouts, and this time too his words bounce on the walls. A long shiver runs down his back, making him squirm. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt pushes the door of the last room open and finds himself in the undoubtedly messiest room of the house. It’s Thomas’s bedroom. The cat has snuck its way at the feet on the bed, where a pile of pants and jeans have been thrown. Now, this room has a soul, even if it’s not exactly the should Newt had expected. It’s…chaotic. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The blinders are pulled shut and the light that filters is dim just enough to make out the shape of the furnishings, anyway. Many, many clothesare scattered on the floor and on the back of a chair and on top of the armchair in the corner. The drawers of the dresser against the opposite wall are half open, and that’s what convinces Newt to walk inside. He doesn’t really want to, but he’s going to get sick for sure if he doesn’t put something on right fucking now.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He heads to the dresser and reaches out for a shirt that’s wedged in the corner of the drawer. Suddenly, thunder roars outside, followed three seconds later -Newt has the habit to count them- by lightning. The flash makes a white reflex gleam over the top of the dresser for a moment, and Newt looks up. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The sight of a framed picture of Thomas and a girl greets him. In it, the girl is holding the camera and looking straight into the lens, smiling, but Thomas…Thomas has his arm wrapped around the girl’s neck and he’s grinning at the girl like Newt has never seen him do in person, and there’s something so warm and so intimate in that gaze that Newt feels guilty for even looking at it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She’s Teresa.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt jumps on his feet, turning around. “I’m sorry, I didn't mean to— I was just looking for some clothes,” he tried to explain, feeling profoundly mortified. Thomas walks to him and Newt can’t tell if he’s angry or not. “Really Tommy, I didn’t mean to pry.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas leans a hand on his bare shoulder and squeezes. “I know, it’s fine. It’s just a picture anyway.” No, Newt wants to tell him, it’s not just a picture if he keeps it there where he can see it every time he goes to bed and wakes up, and it’s clear from the expressions of Thomas and the girl in it that there’s a lot more about that picture than Thomas wants to admit. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Anyway I totally forgot about giving you dry clothes, sorry ‘bout that. Here, take these, they should fit,” Thomas then goes on, handing him a pair of boxers, sweatpants and a t-shirt.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He didn't sound mad at least, nor upset in general, and before Newt can think better of it, he takes his shirt off to change. Now, he does that without reflecting on it, obviously. He can expect Thomas to be embarrassed. He can expect Thomas to stare at him, or to blush and run outside. But Thomas’s eyes fall on the scars on his wrist, again, and Newt curses his own fucking stupidity. Thomas doesn’t look at him like he’s a freak, he doesn’t try to touch him, he just stands there, looking sad until he realizes he’s doing it, and then he glances up at Newt while he slides the shirt on. As if he saw nothing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Pizza is here, by the way. I’ll start setting everything up,” he says while he reaches the door. He stops there, turning around to glance at Newt with a gentle smile. He looks so beautiful when he does that. “I was thinking we could eat on the balcony, since it’s sheltered by the one upstairs. It’s not big but the view is pretty, I think.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt rubs the towel on the back of his head and nods, glad that Thomas doesn’t make a big deal out of anything really, he just accepts things as they are. “Sure thing, Tommy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Great! Then grab a hoodie or whatever you want from the second drawer, ‘cause it’s going to be chilly.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Five minutes later, Newt is dressed and he reaches the living room where the balcony is. He’s wearing an orange hoodie that smells like Thomas -like Thomas’s detergent actually, but it doesn’t matter- and the sweatpants he gave him fit him just right. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas is outside. He has already cut the pizzas in slices and he’s now placing two glasses and a bottle of beer in the middle of the small round table. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I stole a pair of socks, hope you don’t mind,” Newt grins, sitting on one of the two stools on what is indeed a small balcony. He likes it though. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas takes place beside him, pouring some beer in the glasses and handing him one. “Not at all. So, what should we toast to?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt wrinkles his nose. “Do we have to toast to something?” He asks, eyeing Thomas intensely. Their stools are on the same side of the table, so that they can both have a good look on the city underneath, and they’re sitting so close that Newt can count the tufts of wet hair on his forehead. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas shrugs with an indecisive smile. “Why not? Got nothing to celebrate? Or to hope for?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">Yeah, I do, Tommy.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m just— grateful that I’m here, right here, right now,” Newt answers truthfully, after some beats of silence. It’s the truth. Two years ago he could have never imagined to be living a night like this, with someone like this. He is grateful. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas looks at him with his big brown eyes and he’s about to say something, but then he closes his mouth. He clinks his glass to Newt’s. “Me too,” he says, taking a sip. “Me too.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The rain hasn’t stopped yet but they don’t get wet, because like Thomas had foreseen, the balcony of the upper floor shields them, and there’s no wind. It is a little chilly and Newt pulls the hood up, but it’s overall a nice evening outside. The pizza is good, the view pretty even if a little gloomy, because the dark clouds cast a grey light all over the buildings, and even the green park in front of them looks lonely like that, and not that green.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Only small talk during the meal happens. They talk about how much Minho likes to tease Newt, they talk about the mess at the shop today, they talk about what kind of movies they like to watch at night, and it’s all very pleasant and nice, if it wasn’t for the fact that Newt can’t get that picture on the dresser out of his head. Something about the smiles in it and the way Thomas had avoided Newt’s eyes right after bothers him. He really, really doesn’t want to bring it up, but he has the feeling that if he doesn’t he won't be able to enjoy the rest of the night like he’d want. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So, while Thomas pushes his pizza crusts in the corners of the box, Newt pulls one knee up against his chest and leans his chin on it. “Can I ask you something, Tommy?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas looks at him and wipes his mouth from salt and sauce. “Yeah. Yeah, sure.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Who’s Teresa?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas’s shoulders tense so visibly that Newt feels a new wave of guilt for asking. Selfish bastard, you wanted to know so bad, and look at how uncomfortable you made him. “No, I’m…sorry, you don’t have to answer that,” Newt corrects himself, averting his gaze. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, it’s alright,” Thomas says, taking in a deep breath. He rubs his hands nervously on his thighs, fidgeting. “She’s…she’s my ex.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt had assumed so, but it still comes out like a well aimed punch in his guts. His stomach churns but he can’t tell why, and he limits himself to look at Thomas, leaving him the choice to elaborate on that because he’s not sure anymore if he wants to know. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Thomas finally looks up, it’s to chug down the last drop of beer left in the can. “We broke up two years ago.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But then— why do you still keep her picture in your room?” Newt asks, unable to keep his own curiosity and tongue at bay. He’s conflicted between the desire to know more about this, about Thomas’s past, and the fear of discovering it for real. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas shifts on the stool, looking anywhere but at Newt. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Tommy. If you don’t want to talk about it, just say so. I asked because I was— curious, that’s all. It’s none of my business anyway,” Newt mutters, spinning on the stool so to face him directly. He says that, but only half means it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas swallows, and then finally turns to meet his gaze. His hand pats Newt’s thigh once and he shrugs with one shoulder. “I don’t mind talking about it,” Thomas admits and closes the boxes with the few bites of pizza left. “I guess I keep her picture there mostly out of habit than anything. And— loneliness, perhaps.” He smiles in spite of himself, shrugging again. “A lot happened between us, and it didn't end well. But I still can’t bring myself to put that picture away, for some reason.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt frowns, cocking his head to the side a little, confused. “Do you still love her?” He asks bluntly. His heart is beating fast, and even if he knows he looks calm and collected, the mess of thoughts inside of his head is scary. A storm of self doubt and hesitation he needs to placate as soon as possible, before he comes to wrong conclusions. He’s being rude and a lot. Thomas has been nothing but kind to him, letting him use his shower and giving him clothes and offering him dinner, and Newt all but asks this kind of questions about his past love life for his own dirty interest. Asshole.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas shakes his head, though, and there’s a hint of anxiety in his expression. “I don’t.” He reaches out for Newt’s thigh again and gives him a tiny squeeze. “I don’t,” he repeats more softly, dropping the hand. Newt bites his tongue, refraining from asking further. The denial has to be enough for now.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How…how about you?” Thomas suddenly asks, his lips tilting in a smirk. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How about me what?” Newt plays dumb, knowing very well what Tommy meant. He grins, spinning half circumference on the stool. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Come on, you know what,” Thomas insists, fairly determined to give Newt a taste of his own medicine.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt lets him off the hook, turning a little more serious now. “I used to date a guy some years ago,” is the dry reply that brings him to avert his gaze towards the park. The rain is falling weaker now, softer, a nice background for a quiet chat like theirs. Newt isn’t sure he wants to explore the dangerous waters of this conversation with Thomas, but he has no right to deny him his answers, anyway, because Tommy gave him what he asked. So, before the next question came, Newt adds, “I was going though some bad times and I— did something stupid he didn't accept, and decided it was better to just break up.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Silence falls after that. It’s interrupted only by the occasional honking of cars below and the continuous tap of the rain all around them. Thomas takes a deep breath, then reaches for his arm to pat his shoulder. “Looks like we got our fair share of bad stories, uh?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything. Thomas doesn’t seem to expect a reply though, because he stands up right after and starts to clean up the table. “Alright, I’m kind of freezing out here now. Do you mind if we bring this inside?” What “this” is, Newt is not sure, but he gets up anyway and helps Thomas tidy the table up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The warmth that welcomes them inside is more than pleasing and Newt feels his shoulders relax from the tension that had built in the last minutes. He brings the dirty glasses and the empty boxes in the kitchen, but Thomas bats his hands away. “I’ll take care of these later,” and Newt wants to complain and help, but he’s pushed out of the kitchen and led into the living room before he can. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s an armchair in front of the small television, and a couch where they decide to rest on. Thomas turns the television on, Newt sits down, and he does it over something that stings the back of his thigh. “Ouch.” He shifts to the side, inspecting the cubical object he accidentally almost crushed under his weight. It’s a box of pills. More specifically, sleeping pills. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas’s eyes widen and before Newt can apologize he reaches for the box and snatches it from his hands. He turns around and lays it somewhere behind the couch, muttering curses under his breath Newt doesn’t manage to catch.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Tommy?” He calls, moving a little closer to the other. Thomas is pretending to adjust the creases of his pants and Newt wonders if he’s embarrassed, or ashamed, even. If there’s something Newt has learned through the years, it’s that this kind of thing does make you feel miserable like that, but only because you feel like that it doesn’t mean you are.</span> <span class="s1">“Tommy,” he repeats, and now Thomas looks at him. Newt reaches for his hand, wrapping his fingers around his in a tender gesture of silent comfort. “You know, I used to take them too,” he confesses, hoping that could be of some support, even if minimum. Thomas looks at him with that childlike dumbstruck gaze he often has, and Newt nods. “Yeah. A consequence of the bad times I was telling you about earlier.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas doesn’t pull his hand away from Newt’s grip. Instead, he brings his other one to cup both of them as he frowns. “Uhm. Why did you have to take them?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt lets the silence stretch. To say he’s not scared is a lie. He is terrified, terrified that if Thomas gets to know the worst part of him, even if it’s not the same than it used to be, he won’t want to be around him anymore. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was…I was depressed until a couple years ago, the, uh, bad times,” Newt mumbles in a low but steady voice, “And the pills helped a lot during the last months of it.” There, he said it, plain and clear, with no room for misunderstandings whatsoever. Now it’s all up to Thomas. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Newt brings himself to meet his gaze, he gapes. Thomas is looking at him with so much sadness in his eyes, as if he’s on the verge of crying, and suddenly Newt has the urge to smile. “No Tommy, no, don’t look at me like that, I swear I’m fine!” He reaches out with the other hand too, leaning it on Thomas’s shoulder. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m just sorry you had to go through that,” Thomas says softly, rubbing his thumb on the back of Newt’s hand. He still looks downed by his words, but Newt repeats he’s fine now and they settle with a mutual squeeze of hands. “Okay, I believe you.” Thomas grabs the box of pills from behind the couch, showing it and staring at it pensively. “I take them because after Teresa and I were over, I haven’t managed to sleep decently that much. Insomnia, they say.” He shrugs, casually letting go of Newt’s hand to stand up and hide the box in a drawer. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Must have been very bad for you, Tommy, if it happened two years ago and you still need to take them,” Newt points out, patting the empty spot on the couch beside him to urge him to sit again. Thomas does, a little bit closer than before, and sighs heavily, as if to wash away the wave of sorrow still lingering in the air. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m better now. Still working on myself, but I’m over her and what she did,” he reassures, and, finally, he smiles. There is a lot more neither of them is telling, Newt knows. What they shared tonight is only part of the bigger picture, tiny pieces of the puzzles of their past life. Maybe, with time, they’ll get to see that bigger picture, maybe one day they’ll feel free to open themselves to each other without fear of judgment and no room for doubts. Newt truly hopes so. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Before the silence between becomes awkward, Thomas turns his attention to the television. The conversation is over for the night and Newt appreciates it, because, despite the ease he finds himself talking to Tommy with, he doesn’t really want it all to go downhill with heavy-hearted revelations. He’ll save that for another time, eventually.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Shots of guns and screeching of brakes of an action movie fill the living room of Thomas’s apartment soon after. Newt leans back against the cushions and pulls the knees against the chest, enjoying the coziness of the moment, and when Thomas scoots closer to him and casually lets his hand fall in the middle, Newt hesitates. He turns to look at him, but Thomas is watching the movie, or pretending to, at least. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In the end, Newt slowly reaches for Thomas’s fingers. They twitch when Newt holds his hands, but neither of them says a word, nor move them away.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>not gonna lie, this chapter was hard to write for some reason. i guess that’s because i tried to fuse the into/first meeting thing with the more emotional stuff about their past, but i struggled a lot doing so, and it took me longer than i’d wanted to write it down, and kinda went through writer's block in the second half</p><p>i’ve only watched the first movie and read the first trilogy of books, so i’m using those as reference and characterization, but I’ve realized how little we are given in the books about the character’s personalities. it’s all plot plot plot and i honestly have no idea how any of the characters would react to things like depression or love or insomnia or healing, which made me feel like i’m writing them out of character, and if that’s the case, i’m sorry. this talk they had is just the start anyway, i’ll dig deeper into their past more in detail in the future chapters</p><p>i would love to know what you think about it, and if you enjoyed it even in the least, then I’m glad &lt;3</p><p> i made a <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2zVkrANwrsV4znZiMMr9dh?si=Ps4sGCqNToS_NOMfoMTspA">newtmas playlist</a> and <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5WNk9Ioj72lNMq0t4In2El?si=IDhQfhI3RZa1UzFHf1ypvQ">newtmas playlist for this specific fic</a> that doesn’t include all the heavy angst netwmas out of this au kind includes lol no sad songs in the second one. if you happen to listen to them and like them, i’d be very happy &lt;3</p><p> </p><p>my <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/hybristophilica">tumblr</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/hybristophilica">twitter</a> &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Relapse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"It’s a mutter that comes out so soft that Newt has to hold himself together not to start crying again. He whimpers, though. “I’m a mess,” he says, fidgeting with the hem of the sheets and tapping on them nervously with his fingertips. “I’m a fucking mess, Tommy.” "</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello people, it’s been a while! sorry if updates are slow, i’m quite busy lately and i cant write as much as i’d like, and I have 3 on going fics and I’m trying to write them all so please bear with me aaaa </p><p>i like this chapter quite a lot to be honest, it’s very poetically sad (?) but comforting for some reason to me, but i don’t wanna spoil anything so i’ll just leave you to it lol</p><p>i suggest you listen to <a>this</a>, <a>this</a> and <a>this</a> in this order while/after you read this chapter</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas sits at the table at the window and opens his laptop in front of a fuming cup of hot chocolate. The smell is delicious, and it makes his mouth water. He throws a quick glance at the counter, where he can’t find what he’s looking for. He doesn’t care about the rest of the cafe, about the blurry lines people walking beside the table seem to leave behind, about the background noise on the other side of the glass. He doesn’t care about anything but one thing in this moment, one single name that hammers inside his head like a mantra, hypnotizing, confusing, almost overwhelming.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn’t even notice somebody sat at table until they clear their throat and Thomas’s whips around. When he sees her, his mind blanks, and a flat silence takes over. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Teresa?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s smiling, her legs elegantly thrown over one another while she sips tea -Thomas can’t see it, but he knows it’s tea- and when he calls her name, her face lights up. “Tom.” It’s just his name, but it feels like a needle in the eye. “You seem surprised. To see me, I mean.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas swallows, closing the laptop and pushing the mug of hot chocolate to the side. He’s lost appetite. “Yeah…I— am. I didn’t think I’d meet you here, of all places.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She giggles, her eyes so friendly and warm, just like the smile he used to love so much. “But were you looking for me, at least?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The question surprises him. Was he looking for her? He can’t remember anymore. There was a name floating in his head until a minute ago, but the more he strives the more the letters dissolve in memory, until they’re nothing but a low murmur he can’t comprehend. “I’m not sure,” he admits, “I’ve been thinking about you a lot, lately.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course you have,” Teresa smiles behind the mug, taking another sip. She looks relaxed sitting so nonchalantly like that, like nothing happened between them, like they’re old time friends meeting for a reunion. Which they kind of are. “You miss me, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas swallows, looking down at his fingers.“You broke my heart, Teresa.” Thomas says, calm but firm, raising his eyes to meet hers. “I think about you because you broke my heart, but I don’t miss you. I can’t miss you anymore.” He feels that it’s a statement that doesn’t need any further explanation.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Teresa tenses up on the chair and puts the cup down. Now that Thomas looks at it more closely, it’s all veined, old looking, and he wonders how it’s not leaking from every crack. She leans forward, with the elbows on the edge of the table, and her expression is all but friendly right now. “Then why am I here, Tom?” She asks in a hiss.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas cocks his head, confused. “Why are you— how would I know?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She huffs a sarcastic sigh, resting back against the backrest with the arms folded at her chest. “You’re so pathetic, you know that? Still the scaredy cat I left. When will you finally admit what you want?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas is too shocked to answer. He can’t understand what she’s talking about but it hurts, it hurts so much for some reason. There’s a part of him that is rioting against this conversation, against Teresa, about his stubbornness.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The inside of the cafe darkens despite the sun is shining outside, and what were confused whispers of the other clients now grow in volume and intensity. Thomas feels his heart pick up pace, upset and very uncomfortable, but unable to move from his seat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll tell you something,” Teresa declares, her expression serious but entertained at the same time, as if her own thoughts amused her. “You don’t want to admit you want <em>him </em>because you’re terribly scared you will <em>lose </em>him,” she mutters in a malicious whisper meant to hurt. It succeeds. “You’re scared to have him because you might lose him, just like you lost me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Stop it—“ Thomas begs, having trouble breathing. He clenches his hand at his shirt, pulling to relieve some pressure from his chest, but Teresa grabs his fingers in a tight grip. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re scared Newt won’t stay with you any more than I did, because Tom, deep down, you know he doesn’t want you either.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Is it the name, is it the pain, Thomas wakes up with a gasp, sitting up quickly in his bed. His hands are clenching at the front of his shirt for real, shaking, and his heart is beating so fast he think he’s going to collapse. A dry sob escapes his throat when he buries his face in the pillow again, letting go of all the resentment and anxiety the nightmare had seeded in him so early in the morning.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Blade, probably startled by Thomas’s sudden awakening, jumps on the bed and taps his arm, resting against his shoulder. Thomas doesn’t move and focuses on his breathing, closing his eyes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>It was just a nightmare, nothing more. She’s gone, it was a nightmare, calm the fuck down. It was— only a nightmare.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gets up from bed and gets ready for work, feeling as unmotivated as ever. He’s got deadlines to meet, articles to write, and totally in the mood to spend another four hours in bed, but he can’t waste a minute basking in his own melancholy, nor wants to. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Halfway through the morning, he decides too text Newt while he sips the second coffee of the day. <em>‘Morning! Are you at work?’ </em>He doesn’t actually wait for him to reply, because Alby finds him hiding behind the coffee machine and drags his ass back to the desk. And so Thomas spends the next hours actually writing, managing to complete some reviews and correct the drafts of several articles.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s during his lunch break that he checks his phone again and finds zero new messages, which is weird, because Newt is usually pretty quick to reply. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m heading out for the afternoon, I’ll see you guys tomorrow!” He excuses himself. He likes to think that it’s because he writes well at the Maze Cafe that he’s headed there right now, not because Newt isn’t answering to his messages. Not at all.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ben is at the counter and he’s the one that serves him a couple of sandwiches and a glass of juice, and Thomas doesn’t know him well enough to ask about Newt without feeling nosy, so he pays, smiles, and heads to the table at the window. When he sits, he almost expects Teresa to appear all of a sudden on the chair in front of him like she did in the dream. The image is still vivid in his head, and Thomas wishes it wasn’t. He doesn’t want to remember her smile, or her freckles, or the way she laughed whenever he said something stupid. He doesn’t want to remember any part of her, not even the good parts. So he slips his earphones on and lets some songs take him away, distract him just enough that for one moment, only one moment, he can push her out of his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Working that afternoon doesn’t come as smoothly as Thomas has hoped. He’s still thinking about the ignored message and he’s barely written a paragraph, so he closes the laptop and walks down the short staircase, reaching the counter where Minho has just started his shift. “Hey mate! What can I prepare for you?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas scratches the stubble under his chin, pondering. He should really shave. “The usual black coffee.” How lame.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Minho chuckles, probably expecting the answer because he’s already holding the round tool to insert in the coffee machine. “Large, I assume?” He in fact asks soon after, and Thomas nods with a small smile. It’s a silly little thing that the baristas of the cafe already remember his usual order, but after moving here it’s the first time that Thomas feels like he somehow belongs in this city, that he can actually have a new, uncontaminated life away from Teresa. Oh, right, about that. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey Minho, can I ask you a question?” Thomas asks, leaning closer to he counter while Minho poured fuming coffee in his cup.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sure. Shoot.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do…Do you know if Newt is coming today?” Thomas inquires, trying to look nonchalant but knowing very well he simply can’t. Minho smirks, handing him the cup. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, he called in sick this morning so he’s not coming at all today. Sorry, man.” Thomas chews on his lip to hide the disappointment, nods and thanks him for the coffee. He turns around and starts leaving, but Minho calls for him again. “Wait, Thomas. I wanted to ask you something.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas sips. “Sure.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Minho scratches his arm, looking nervous for the first time since Thomas has known him. “Do you and Newt—get along well?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Okay, definitely not what Thomas expected. “Why are you asking me this?” He doesn’t mean to sound defensive, but he does. He’s not sure what Minho’s hinting at or what he wants to know, but Thomas is going to be careful with his words.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Minho sighs, wiping the coffee machine with a wet cloth and throwing it in the sink. He dries his hands against the apron and leans against the counter, looking at Thomas. There’s something soft on his expression, tender, and Thomas realizes he worried over nothing. “Newt doesn’t exactly take a liking to people very easily,” he starts, his lips slowly curving in a complicit smile, “and he sure as hell doesn’t <em>hang out </em>so soon with them.I was curious to know what he’s seen in you that caught his eye so bad."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alright, now Thomas feels called out, even if in a good way, kinda. He doesn’t quite know how to answer Minho’s implicit question, but he swallows another gulp of coffee and averts his gaze. “I can’t tell you what he’s seen, ‘cause I have no clue. But I’m glad he— took a liking, as you put it. To answer what you first asked, yes, I believe we get along.” He looks back at Minho, whose expression is more serious now. He stares at him for a while and Thomas wants to disappear, feeling under examination, an examination that for some reason he feels he needs to pass.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Listen,” Minho says at last, rubbing his face, “I know it’s none of my business but…don’t play with him, alright? I’m glad to see that you guys get along but don’t— play with him, okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas has to hold back a smile at that. It’s cute to see Minho act like that for Newt, and it’s good to know Newt has someone like him at his side. But really, this is unnecessary. “Believe me, hurting him is the last thing I intend to do,” he confesses, meaning it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Minho considers his words with a diplomatic glance, then seems to relax, resuming his duties behind the counter. “Alight then,” he mumbles, then dismisses Thomas with a nod. Just when he’s abut to leave, he speaks again. “I like you by the way, Thomas.” And he says that so out of the blue that this time Thomas can’t help a grin to bloom on his face. He doesn’t know why, but it makes him relieved to have Minho’s on his side. Almost like a blessing.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">— </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt rolls in bed for the umpteenth time that evening. He stares at the sun setting low outside of the window and a melancholic sigh escapes him. It’s been a bad day, one of those that thankfully don’t happen very often, but that, when they do, leave him breathless. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The doctor said relapses are normal and to be expected, but they still catch Newt unprepared. And when a day like this happens, he can’t leave the house, nor he wants to. It’s better to stay alone in this safe bubble of loneliness and regret rather than letting anyone else see him like this. It’s only one day every now and then, he can handle it on his own just fine, he did for the last two years.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That morning Thomas texted him and a whole day passed without Newt answering. He didn't have the energies for it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Maybe he went to the Maze to see if I was there. Was he looking forward to see me? He could be mad at me because I didn't answer his text. He didn’t send a second one anyway, he’s given up. Or maybe he doesn’t even care I didn't reply, maybe he’s barely noticed I wasn’t there. Yeah, why would he? Just because we hung out a few times it doesn’t make us anything real. You’re just a loser, reading more into it than what there is. Calling it a date was a mistake, because, honestly, who would want to date you, Newt. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt lays on his stomach, eyes lazily tracing the blurry shape of the nightstand, the alarm, the pills, the phone in the darkness of the room. His fingers itch to reach out and just grab it, but he can’t. He’s paralyzed, frozen on the cold sheets of the bed while his breath picks up in pace. He closes his eyes and clenches his fists until he manages to shove those thoughts out of his mind, but the effort is grand and tiring, and it doesn’t take him long to doze off. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s night when he wakes up to his phone buzzing. The screen reads <em>Tommy, </em>and Newt’s swallows with difficulty as he reaches out to open the message. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>‘Hey. Minho said you’re sick. Are you alright?’ </em>Oh, Tommy. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He really did go to the cafe in the end, and even asked about him to Minho. Newt whimpers, feeling pathetic, guilty, generally awful, and there are tears in the corners of his eyes as he grabs the phone, holding it close to the chest for more than a few minutes. Once he’s calmed down, the voice of his conscience is louder than the self deprecating one, and he opens Thomas’s chat, typing a quick <em>‘Can I call you?’</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> An instant ‘<em>Yes’ </em>both terrifies him and makes him pull a sigh of relief, and so he dials Thomas’s number. <em>Tu—tu—tu—</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Newt?” His voice feels like a breath of fresh wind and Newt lets his eyes fall shut, feeling the hair at the back of his head stand. “Newt are you there? Is everything okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m here,” Newt says weakly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s wrong?” Thomas asks. It took him three words to know something was not right.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt doesn’t answer right away and Thomas doesn’t push it, waiting patiently on the other side of the phone. Newt hesitates. It’s been a few weeks since he and Thomas started hanging out more regularly even outside of the cafe, and Newt trusts him <em>a lot</em>. He knows he can tell him what’s really going on, but he fears that if he does, then Thomas will think he lied, when he’d said that he was doing better, and that he was over this. Newt could lie to him, pretend he has a fever or a cold, but lying to Tommy just doesn’t feel right. A relapse is a relapse, real and painful, something he has to live with, but that also means the worst has already passed, and this is just a bump in the road.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My head is wrong,” he mutters at last, and Thomas hums, as if he knows exactly what Newt means.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you want to tell me about it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not really.” He’s in the worst state Thomas could hear him in, but the thought doesn’t bother Newt as much as it should, for now at least. He hopes that if Thomas will accept this side of him, then it should be a lot easier to accept and like the rest. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you…want to go out?” Thomas tries. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt frowns, checks the time, frowns again. “It’s almost 1 in the morning, Tommy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So? Do you have a car? Can you drive here?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn’t have a car but he has bike, even though he doesn’t say it. “Why would you want to go out now? It’s freaking cold out there, and where could we even go?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wherever is fine. I just want to see you,” Thomas states calmly, and Newt feels the first pulse of an headache coming. Just what he needed. He rubs the wrinkles on his forehead and rolls on his back, flattening the hand on his chest. Going out implies getting dressed, turning the engine on, riding, moving, and it sounds too exhausting to even think about.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I can’t.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Newt. Throw on a jacket and come see me, please. I know it’s late, and I know you don’t feel like it, but…I promise it won’t take long. I just want to see you tonight.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s a mutter that comes out <em>so </em>soft that Newt has to hold himself together not to start crying again. He whimpers, though. “I’m a mess,” he says, fidgeting with the hem of the sheets and tapping on them nervously with his fingertips. “I’m a fucking mess, Tommy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t care. I want to see you right now, this very night. Can you make it here?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt’s lower lip is trembling and he sits up quickly, too quickly, and even in the dark the whole room spins. “Yeah,” he agrees, pressing a palm against his forehead. He feels like he can’t walk three steps straight, but he <em>will </em>drive to Thomas tonight. At all costs. “I’ll meet you at the park in front of your balcony.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll wait for you there,” Thomas agrees, then adds, “And, Newt. Thank you.” Then the call ends, and Newt is left with echoing silence. He doesn’t move at first, letting the phone fall from his hand as he stares blankly at the wall in front of him. Thomas, damned Thomas and his honest tone.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he finds the will to crawl out of bed, the first thing Newt does is eat. He hasn’t had a bite through the whole day, and fainting on Thomas would really be cherry on top of the cake of a great day. Once he’s forced half a sandwich down his throat, he grabs the black jacket from the coat hanger and the keys of the bike, then leaves. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s cold outside and Newt regrets not bringing a scarf or a hat as he rides loudly enough to make the neighborhood’s dogs bark at the sky. The streets are desert, so he dares to speed up more than he should, eating up the bunch of miles that separate him from Thomas in a matter of minutes. As his wrist twists down to go faster, Newt is reminded of other times when he considered this bike his ticket to the other world, when he almost used it as such. There had been nights where not even the thrill of the wind though his hair could help him relieve the weight on his chest, where not even the uncontaminated air of the night with its starry sky could cleanse the clouds in his head. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s different now, even in this exact moment. He might stumble upon relapse days, that’s true, and when he does, it feels like he’s never moved on from that condition, but he has. Right now, he watches the sky and the stars, he breathes the freezing wind in, and he’s thankful to be still able to feel them on his skin.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he arrives in front of Thomas’s apartment, he parks the bike on the other side of the road and walks to the park on foot. Thomas is already there, sitting on a rusty swing and rocking his feet back and forth. The light coming from the street lamp on the other half of the park is barely enough to let Thomas spot him, and when he does he jumps on his feet, reaching Newt halfway. “You made it,” he says, the outline of a smile on his lips. Newt can barely meet his gaze, feeling the hole inside of him grow again. Thomas takes a step closer, studying his face, then points at the swings behind him. “Wanna sit?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt nods, hoping to find his voice again before morning. It’s just so hard to face him like this. He opens his mouth and closes it, one time, two times, three. Then, finally, “Why were you up so late?” He asks dumbly, then it clicks. “Couldn’t sleep?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas smiles, sits on the wings beside him and pushes back in a small run-up before letting himself sway forward. “Yes. I was also thinking about you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">God, Thomas can be so fucking blunt when he wants, Newt is seriously not used to it. “Why’s that?” He asks, sitting on the swing sideways and leaning his cheek against the cold chain. Thomas turns to look at him and slows the pace of his legs down, now only letting inertial force do its job swinging him back and forth in shorter arcs. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Because I was worried about you being sick,” he answers, then looks down and smiles to himself, bitterly. “I was also wondering why you wouldn’t reply to my text.” Newt grabs the chain, taking a deep breath, but before he can explain Thomas stops him with his hand. “I get it, Newt. I get it,” he reassures, stopping the last sway by planting the heels in the dirt as he looks in his eyes. “I’m glad you came.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With every single one of Thomas’s words, the destroying echo in Newt’s head fades, and he realizes that coming out with Tommy, even if here, even if so late, had been a good call. “I’m glad I came too,” he mumbles, attempting at a smile.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas catches it and smiles back, looking like one of Newt’s dreams, with the soft glow the street lamp casts around his head and the gentle look in his eyes. He stands up and walks to him, offering an open palm. “Come with me, there’s something I want to show you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt stares at the hand he’s being offered and moves his own almost instinctively, magnetically attracted by this someone that, for some reason, is trying so hard not to leave him alone to deal with himself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tommy leads him out of the park, and without telling him where they’re headed, he guides Newt across the city. Everything is silent and quiet, the shutters of houses and apartments closed, the green traffic lights authorizing nonexistent cars to go on, and the only noise noteworthy is a far away burglar alarm. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt can’t tell for how long they’ve been walking, but the tips of his fingers are starting to ache from the cold and he shoves them in the pockets of the jacket. At least the cold is waking him up. He doesn’t know where Thomas is leading him, but he’s surprised he knows this part of the city so well. They’re not in the center anymore, and Newt can’t understand what Thomas could be looking for around here. There isn’t much.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They finally arrive to the bridge above the thin river that splits the city in two, and Thomas stops. Instead of crossing the bridge, though, he steps to the side and starts walking downhill to the bank of the river, where the concrete of the bridge is arranged in blocks that contrast drastically with the grass and the sand nearby the water. He sits on one of them and leans his back against the wall at the base of the bridge, patting a spot beside him. Newt hesitantly sits down, confused. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I come here sometimes, when I can’t sleep,” Thomas says, ripping a blade of grass and toying with it mindlessly. “I was wandering around one night and found the bridge and just, I don’t know, I liked this spot.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now there’s nothing but moonlight to light up Tommy’s features and Newt is captivated by the way it makes him look more delicate, like thin glass, as if he would break if Newt touched him with the pad of his index finger. “Why did you bring me here?” Newt asks. It came out a whisper.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Because I hoped it would make you feel better.” Thomas’s smile is small and sincere as he looks up at the sky, resting his head against the wall behind. “Also the view is pretty,” Thomas chuckles, gazing at the stars. Newt gazes at him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It is.” He has to turn away, overwhelmed. He can feel it rise inside, the panic and the guilty, and there’s nothing to stop the unexpected dry sob that resounds over the waves of the river. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas turns to look at him quickly, reaching out for his arm. “Newt? Newt?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s nothing,” Newt lies, trying to push him away because the last thing he wants is to cry in front of him, and he <em>will </em>cry if Thomas doesn’t stop. Thomas is strong, though, and he easily manages to pull him closer and turn him around. His hand flies to cup Newt’s jawline in a tough grip, steadying Newt’s frantic thoughts. He looks into Newt’s tears and doesn’t shy away from them, wiping them with his thumb. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt’s crying with wide eyes, shaking his head weakly, and so Thomas’s other hand cups his other cheek. They’re face to face, Newt is breathing fast with his own heartbeat pounding in the eardrums, but Thomas doesn’t let go, he keeps him close and holds him still, firm. “I got you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt sobs, leaning against those warm hands, closing his eyes. “I’m…sorry, Tommy. It’s not— it’s not always like this, I swear,” he bawls. “It’s just a-a relapse. Today was all <em>shit</em>,” Newt tries to explain, bringing one hand to latch onto Thomas’s. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They sit like that for a little, then Thomas wraps an arm around Newt’s shoulder, pulling him against the chest. Like that, shoulder to shoulder, they watch the stars together while the river flows at their right, unmindful of their presence. Newt calms down eventually, feeling emptied of any energy as he leans his head in the crook of Thomas’s neck. Their hands are still latched together in the middle, and Thomas rubs his thumb tenderly against Newt’s knuckles.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t apologize for this. It’s not your fault,” he then says, leaning his head against Newt’s. “And something like this is not going to chance the way I see you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Newt inhales sharply, burying his face in Tommy’s neck. He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve someone like him, but he’s thankful and incredibly emotional right now, so he doesn’t mind if some tears trickle inside Thomas’s shirt. The wind and the dry cold are starting to make him tremble in his jacket, and when Thomas notices he holds him closer, giving him a little shake. “Do you want to go home?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If he means his own or Newt’s is uncertain, but Newt sniffs and nods, rubbing his eyes. “Yeah. Let’s go.” They walk back where they came from, only this time closer, with their fingers brushing against the other’s. Newt is calmer now, more controlled and present, but he feels on edge and doesn’t trust himself with words yet. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When they reach Thomas’s apartment and stop in front of the door and Thomas slides the keys out of his pocket, Newt fidgets on his feet. He wants to say thank you, he’d like to explain more, but right now is not really the time, he knows. Thomas pushes the door open and an automatic bulb flows the staircase with light.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas bites his lip, then throws a quick glance at the stairs. “Why don’t you stay the night?” He asks gently. “It’s already late and I don’t feel like sending you out there on that bike.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It shouldn’t be a surprising question, but Newt still feels caught off guard. He looks at Thomas, at the stairs, then back at the bike. “Tommy— do you think it’s a good idea?” He asks. He could go home, get in bed and sleep this terrible sadness off, that was the initial plan, and it was okay, really, it worked. But now Tommy’s offering something else instead, he’s offering him company because he knows Newts needs it, and honestly he’s too exposed and fragile right now to argue about it, to pretend he doesn’t want this. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t like the idea of you riding home alone right now. Stay with me tonight,” Thomas replies, reaching out for him again, and Newt doesn’t flinch nor moves away, just stares at him, touched and troubled. He doesn’t want to be a bother even more than he already has. Thomas holds his hand and gently pulls him towards the stairs, dragging him with a calm Newt can’t understand. “It’ll be alright.” It will be indeed. Newt follows him inside.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They enter in the apartment and Thomas guides him to the bedroom, where he opens one of the drawers of the dresser. Newt stands right behind him, feeling an intruder, and notices that the picture that was on the dresser the last time he came here is gone. The picture of Thomas and Teresa is gone, and the thought of Tommy putting it away sends a wave of light relief thought his chest for some reason. It’s something small for many, but to Newt it means a lot. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you really sure I can stay?” He asks, eyeing the bed casually. It’s a big bed indeed, big more than enough for one person…but not for two.Thomas follows his gaze and looks quickly away while he hands Newt the pajama and the hoodie he grabbed from the drawer, then scratches the back of his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I get why you don’t wanna…uh, share. I’ll take the couch, don’t worry. Now get changed, I’ll go get you some water for the night and another pillow,” Thomas says, and then he leaves the room before Newt can say a word.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">—</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas rushes to the living room, cheeks burning furiously. <em>Stupid stupid stupid.</em> How could he not think of details like <em>where the fuck am I going to let Newt sleep </em>or <em>what if he gets the wrong idea</em>, because both of them had turned out to be not irrelevant details at all. He’s mortified about it, but he hadn’t reflected too hard when he’d asked Newt to spend the night. He really just wanted him to be safe and guessed that the best way to make sure of that was to keep him in sight, literally. And when Newt accepted everything happened too quickly for Thomas to ponder on it, and he rolled with it, not stopping to wonder what Newt’s opinion about it was. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sighs, quickly changing clothes and grabbing a water bottle from the kitchen and one of the pillows on the couch, then makes his way back to the bedroom. The door is closed, so he knocks and waits. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, Tommy, come in.” Newt is sitting on the bed, his phone discarded on the dresser on the other side of the room. He looks cute in that pajama, slightly too big for him, falling loose on his arms and thighs, but Thomas can’t let himself linger too long here. He puts the water bottle on the nightstand and settles the pillow on the bed, then turns to Newt. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright, you know where the bathroom is if, you need it. And grab another blanket from the closet if you’re cold,” he says while grabbing his slippers and makes his way to the door. “Have a good night then, Newt.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He opens the door, takes a step, and then there’s a weight resting against his back, pulling him back again weakly but insistently. Newt is right behind him, holding him by the shirt. His head hangs low, and for some seconds he doesn’t speak. Thomas turns around, afraid he’s about to cry again. “Stay,” Newt mumbles, “I’m not going to kick you out of your bed. We can—share,” Newt says, finally looking up at Thomas. Thank God, no tears. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas feels himself smile as he closes the door behind his back. “Do you think it’s a good idea?” He playfully taunts with Newt’s own words, and Newt just gapes at him for a second. Then there it is, a grin that despite small was brighter than the moonlight in the room. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t,” Newt replies, limping slightly back to the bed. He lays down, patting the spot next to him. There’s a string that pulls Thomas to him and his feet are moving on their own, all his thoughts are reduced to this moment, sitting in bed with Newt, pulling him closer, breathing him in, having him calm and safe. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you going to sleep?” Newt asks when Thomas doesn’t lay down with him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not any soon, I fear,” he says, tapping Newt’s nose with his finger. “But you should.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you going to stay here?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas nods. He’s not going to leave for anything in the world. Newt smiles again, more gentle than ever, and he scoots closer, resting his head in Thomas’s lap. It’s a gesture so intimate and unexpected that Thomas’s cheeks flare up again, but the darkness of the room is on his side, at least. His heart is beating fast, but he doesn’t feel restless or nervous, just…moved. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Goodnight, Tommy,” Newt whispers, eyes falling shut. “And thank you. For everything.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thomas brings his hand to Newt’s face, caressing his pale cheek with the knuckles as softly as he can. “You’re welcome. Sleep well, Newt,” he whispers back.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It takes Newt very little to doze off. Poor thing, he must have been exhausted after the long day he’d had. Thomas leans his head on the headrest of the bed and sighs instead; it’s been a long day for him too, but he knows he won’t be able to sleep any soon, not even with the pills. Nightmares like last night’s always leave him a little shaken. He’ll take some time to adjust, and doing so alone is kind of scary, it always is.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But he’s not alone tonight, nor is Newt. They won’t be, as long as they’ve got each other. Thomas runs his fingers through Newt’s blonde hair, cloves of gold in his hand, and closes his eyes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As long as they’ve got each other, they’ll be fine.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i made myself tear up a little while writing this chapter lol i hope the emotion has passed through! i gave our boys some angst to make newt cry, but don’t worry cause Thomas will have his fair share too ahahah</p><p>hurt/comfort is just the best imo</p><p>also how many cliches are too many? *checks nightmare cliche* *checks the view is pretty yes it is cliche* *checks there was only one bed cliche* the answer is never too many </p><p>anyway beans! i appreciate everyone that followed this story so far and that has left kudos and comments, they really help a lot&lt;3 </p><p>reminder that i made a <a>playlist</a> for this fic, i hope you’ll enjoy it, and as always you can find me on <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/hybristophilica">tumblr</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/hybristophilica">twitter</a>  if you ever want to chat! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hope you enjoyed!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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